Page 38 of Steel & Surrender

Nonetheless, she wasn’t about to point that out—not yet anyway.

Instead, she looked on as he lifted the bundle of iron bars.

“Ye made that look easy,” she said with a rueful smile. “Ye’re stronger than I thought.”

He shrugged. “Good to know.”

She moved back to the lean-to and retrieved some more iron bars, including them in the bundle. Then she bid him to lift those. She’d doubled the load, and he still managed, although his arm muscles quivered slightly, the veins on his forehead standing out as he lowered and raised the weight a few times.

Breathing hard, he then set it down on the ground.

“Well done,” Brìghde said with a smile. “Do ye want to try something heavier?”

He cut her a sharp look. “Ye like to push me, don’t ye?”

She held his gaze. “Only because ye are a man who likes to be pushed.”

His dark eyes glinted. “I don’t know about that. But go on, add a bit more iron … and let’s see how I fare.”

She did. The bundle was heavy now. Brìghde would struggle to lift it properly.

She watched Greig ready himself, widening his stance slightly, bending his knees a little deeper, and flexing his fingers on the leather strap.

Then he lifted.

The weight rose from the ground and got halfway up before his weak leg suddenly gave way under him.

And with a gasped curse, Greig collapsed.

The bundle of iron slammed into the ground, narrowly missing his foot.

Without thinking, Brìghde rushed forward and put out a hand to help him.

“Don’t,” he snarled. “I can manage.”

“I’m sure ye can,” she cut back, her own anger rising. God, this man was so cantankerous. How did his family put up with him? “But I can still offer ye help, can’t I?”

He glared at her, pushing aside the hand she stretched out to him once more.

“I’ll be all right,” he muttered. “My leg sometimes does that. Without any warning, the damn thing just gives way.”

“That muscle’s seizing,” she said, studying his leg. “No wonder it fails ye.”

A nerve flickered in his cheek.

Sighing, Brìghde hunkered down so that their gazes were level. “Do ye massage it?”

“No,” he snapped.

“Well, ye should.”

His gaze narrowed, warning flashing in his eyes once more.

Brìghde sighed. “Look. A wound like that—one that’s damaged the muscle—needs help to recover properly. Ye should have someone massaging oil into it regularly … especially after exercise.”

His lips pursed. “Hazel Maclean gave me an oil last Samhuinn with goatweed in it. Bid me to massage it into my leg, but I haven’t bothered.”

“Why not?”